


No-One Gets Around Like Kuroo

by Blink_twice



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Chapter-by-chapter oneshots, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, KUROO/EVERYONE - Freeform, M/M, Might add more pairings on a whim :), No one can resist Kuroo, Oral Sex, Personal wish-fulfilment, Seduction, Sexual Content, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 09:34:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10896573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blink_twice/pseuds/Blink_twice
Summary: Kuroo tips his dark eyes around the room, switching his (slightly hazy) gaze from person to person as the gong of realisation tolls in his head. "I've made out with all of you," he suddenly slurs, jolting upright.Tsukishima drops his glass.At some point or another, everyone’s made out with Kuroo.AKA a chapter-by-chapter chronicle of Kuroo’s irresistibility.Chapter One: Bokuto KoutarouInspired by a sentence from this wonderful fic by timetopretend:http://archiveofourown.org/works/6252358





	No-One Gets Around Like Kuroo

“Think any harder and you’ll break something,” Kuroo teases from his side of the net. His smirk, a pretty much permanent fixture on his face, stretches even wider as Bokuto’s eyebrows furrow in frustration. Having rebounded off Kuroo’s successful block, Bokuto’s attempted cut-shot bounces loudly behind him. The sound, accentuated by the silent night outside Gymnasium 3's flung-open doors, makes Bokuto visibly wince. It's  _god-knows-what_ -O'clock, but judging by the fact that _Kageyama_ had gone off to bed about an hour ago, they're probably just a few hours from day-break.  Kuroo leans a little closer to the net, lowering his voice. “Best leave the strategising to Akaashi.”

Bokuto’s eyes narrow, glinting gold in frustration. His fists ball beside him, and Kuroo raises an amused eyebrow, wondering vacantly how much tighter they can curl before his knuckles split themselves open. They’re both sweating like crazy, and in spite of themselves Kuroo’s eyes trail over to the damp, darkened fabric of Bokuto’s blue shirt, clinging to the dips and curves of his activated abs.

“One more,” Bokuto seethes, and Kuroo’s eyes flick back up to his adversary. Bokuto’s tone is dangerous, low, but his lips are forming an familiar smile. “You bastard.”

Kuroo _hmphs_ , raises a hand and points to the ball, which has finally come to a resting point behind Bokuto. He tilts his head, slight, and tips his eyes back up to lock their gazes. “You’ll have to get that.” Bokuto stares at back at him for a moment through the net, defiant, before eventually turning to pick up the ball. 

“You’re not that hard to read,” Bokuto says, spinning the ball in his hands on his way back, and Kuroo smiles as if to say _yes, I am_. Bokuto stops just inches from the net, inches from Kuroo, and challenges him with his eyes. If Kuroo’s dark eyes are opaque, if the genuine is indiscernible from the ploy, then Bokuto’s are utterly transparent. “I’m working you out,” he continues, steadfast and clear, and Kuroo instinctively blinks, if nothing else than as an attempt to disrupt their laser-focus.  The two of them have been pushing their bodies to their physical limits for four days straight, but somehow it's now that he suddenly feels too hot for his shirt. When he laughs it’s partly genuine, and Bokuto’s mouth twitches in annoyance. He lowers his eyes, winds his fingers through the holes in the net and leans as close as he can to Bokuto’s ear.

“Let me see you try.”

It’s just one example of _blurring the line_ \- Kuroo's used to it by now, and he doesn’t let himself pay attention to the heat coiling in his abdomen. Moments like these had started off rare and become routine, where the pure physicality of their exchanges, the heat and the musk and the tension between their bodies manifested in more than just a mid-air battle. To Kuroo it felt like an inevitable development in their dynamic; sparring with Bokuto in general had always felt like _more than practice_ , anyway _._ It’s probably why they could do it for so long, waning down the sleeping hours with block after shot after read. As their bodies dripped with sweat and ached with fatigue, as the pain in Kuroo’s muscles swelled, he didn’t enjoy it any less. There was still electricity in his joints when he snapped to meet Bokuto’s spikes. There was adrenaline in his blood when oxygen ran low, and the hook of competition to fortify his aching tendons. 

Bokuto’s “ _Again_ ”s, “ _One more_ ”s, were the soundtrack to their incessant game of cat-and-mouse, and Kuroo just couldn’t bring himself to say “Nah, I’m done.” He couldn’t if he wanted to, couldn’t face Bokuto winning one over on him even if it meant a stuck, sore body the next day. They were heightened in this state, and Kuroo doesn’t need a clinical license to know that they’re bonding on another plane, pushing each other's physical boundaries and trembling somewhere between competition and synchronisation. Bokuto slams a spike past him and Kuroo can only marvel at where he finds the energy; what store of power he taps into to create explosions with his palms. He stops for a moment, watches as Bokuto brings down a victory fist and cries out in pride. 

“Hey,” Kuroo says, and honestly he’s not sure if this is delirium, speaking. “You’re amazing, you know that?” Bokuto's body jolts to stillness; his eyes trail up, slowly, to look at Kuroo. There’s no trace of irony in Kuroo’s voice, no dangling thread, no ploy, just his thoughts spilling out over his tongue, and Bokuto’s mouth moves soundlessly over words he doesn't project, attempting to formulate a response. Kuroo distantly thinks about laughing it off, chasing it with a biting quip, but his words are too heavy between them, clotting up tension, reverberating in the space between their heaving chests. Finally, after an indiscernible amount of time, Bokuto’s voice decides to return to his service.

“Thanks,” he starts, laughing, but Kuroo can hear the slight strain. “You too, obviously.” His eyes don’t deviate once from Kuroo’s gaze, and suddenly they're too close, too  _golden,_ too open _._ Kuroo wonders  _how_ eyes are made like that, and while he does he realises that he can’t swallow properly. His chest pumps hard beneath his shirt. He wants to tease, "Duh," but he can't say a thing, caught like a deer in headlights. He drags his eyes down, away from the brightness, which doesn’t help because now he’s looking at Bokuto’s abs again, and now his _thighs_ , bulging through his shorts. His _shorts_ , which suddenly look completely indecent, are riding up a little, enough that the slit of tan skin between the hem and the top of his pads is glaringly visible. Bokuto must notice him looking because he quickly moves to adjust them, pulling them loose, but Kuroo's eyes, dark and cloudy, are fixed.  He doesn’t know how long he stares, but he doesn't care. The unmistakeable bulge between Bokuto’s legs, painfully obvious through white, sweat-dampened linen, tells him it really doesn't matter if he's caught looking a little too long. His own cock pulses in his shorts and Bokuto turns bright red, but neither of them move-  _can_ move- in the thick, hot swamp that's suddenly flooded the gym. 

“Let’s pack up,” Kuroo finally says, after an indeterminable about of time, and his voice sounds strange in his ears- filtered. He tears his eyes away and quickly makes for the nearest net stand, untying the knots more vigorously than he usually would between fingers that feel curiously like jelly. “Were, uh- you keeping score?” he asks, redundantly. Bokuto laughs, nervous.

 

When they’re done Kuroo locks the gym doors, cursing the still, humid Japanese summer for not offering his body much relief even in what must be the dead of night. He turns to face Bokuto, whose sleeping quarter is on the other side of the complex. “Try not to wake everyone up when you get back, god knows you’re clumsy-”

“Kuroo,” Bokuto says, and it’s damning, it’s everything Kuroo had been trying to avoid. His chest swoops and he swallows, looking helplessly at Bokuto, whose eyes are a firm if a little glazed.  Kuroo wants to say  _stop looking at me like that, fuck_ , or  _let's both go take a cold shower and forget about this_ , but he knows Bokuto is thinking the same things and yet- neither them are moving an inch. He mouths something, lips moving to find some combination of words to stop this from happening, but he knows where they're headed- where he _wants_  them to go, deep down- from the palpable sexual energy snapping between them. He's painfully aware of the hardness in his shorts, in Bokuto's. He badly want to _touch_ Bokuto, run his hands all over that sexy, tanned skin; those big muscles. He wants to do things to him he's only ever let surface during the occasional self-induced orgasm, when his mind ploughs up the filthy recesses of everything he's tried to disguise as friendly competition. The _moment_ has control, suddenly- the still, still night where nothing’s alive but the tension between them, crackling and fizzing like foam and fireworks. Then Kuroo’s arm is moving of its own accord, slinking around Bokuto’s tight waist and tugging him closer, as his mind vacantly wonders _what the fuck he’s doing_. 

He hisses when their damp, hard torsos press against each other; winces at the indescribable feeling of his cock pressed flush against Bokuto’s, courtesy of them being basically the same height. They both turn rock hard in an instant, and Kuroo’s forehead falls helplessly onto Bokuto’s shoulder. He can _feel_ their hearts pumping beneath pressed skin, can almost see the pulse jumping out of Bokuto's throat. Then he tilts his head, just tilts it, to press his lips softly against the crook of Bokuto’s neck. Bokuto flinches at the touch and Kuroo just stays there for a moment, hesitating even though it’s too late. His body is a swirling mess, of heat and nerves and now an achingly hard erection, growing as his mind says _fuck it_ , and he starts moving his lips against skin. It’s wet and barely there and outrageously lewd, the sounds his tongue makes as he tugs on the neckline of Bokuto’s shirt to lap at a tanned collarbone, the way his lips butterfly Bokuto's throat. He can almost feel his saliva evaporate off the sizzling hot skin. Bokuto moans, _moans_ , when Kuroo sucks at his jaw, and Kuroo's arm clenches tighter around Bokuto’s waist as he grinds himself, hard, against fervent hips. Bokuto juts his groin forward for more of that desperate friction, and the incorrigible tease in Kuroo commands him to pull back every time he does, denying, denying, until Bokuto’s hand finds Kuroo’s ass and clenches in it, hard, to force them together. 

They’re breathing heavy, now, both open-mouthed. When Kuroo pulls away from Bokuto’s neck, when their eyes catch, time genuinely stops. It’s the moment at the top of a jump; the moment at the peak of the net. Half-a-second, _less_ , but Kuroo can see the line they’re about to trample, the line between them which despite the grinding and the raging boners and the hand on his ass, hasn’t fully been crossed. Their eyes are hesitant, flickering, but _shit_ they're leaning in anyway, noses bumping awkwardly, and they’re really _doing this_ , suddenly, actually, _kissing_. It’s ridiculously sweet, the sensation of Bokuto’s unexpectedly soft lips against his own. It’s achingly gentle, they way they keep pulling away and looking at each other before leaning back in, kissing and breaking, kissing and breaking, just lips against tentative lips. It's the worst kind of kiss for this situation, the most intimate, forcing them to keep _deciding_ to kiss each otheragain and again, to  _consider_ each other, and it's nothing like how he'd imagined it-  _yes, he'd imagined it_ \- rough and wild and thoughtless.  _They're kissing like virgins_ , Kuroo thinks, absently, and then he wonders if Bokuto actually is one. The thought makes him impossibly harder and flushes his cheeks red.  _Virgins, or lovers_. It's making his _heart_ swell, for fuck’s sake, so he opens his mouth and presses deeper, hotting it up to char away the sweetness. Bokuto makes a sound Kuroo didn’t think was possible out of that mouth, a little hum as heat sears between their pressed lips. Kuroo shudders and gets even harder, somehow, tonguing Bokuto’s pliant mouth, and somewhere in the back of his mind he makes a mental note to remind Bokuto that he’s _definitely the one in control._

But _fuck it_ , there won’t be a next time, and the thought makes him throw caution to the wind so he slides a hand inside Bokuto’s shorts and grabs his cock, slick at the top and hard as hell. Bokuto gasps in his mouth but Kuroo doesn’t let him pull away, fisting his hand in silver hair and holding him in the kiss as his hand jerks Bokuto’s pulsing length. He smirks into Bokuto’s mouth and its utter _lust_ , now, a different but not entirely different kind of competition to their nightly bouts of volley. Suddenly his eyes fly open in surprise; his cock is suddenly in Bokuto’s hand, jolting and twitching as Bokuto palms it. He forces himself not to blow his load right there and then. They break the kiss, wet, and lean their foreheads together as a string of saliva breaks between them, thrusting wildly into each other’s touches and setting each other alight in the quiet, unsuspecting gymnasium complex. It's too god-damn hot and Kuroo's never been more turned on, glancing desperately between Bokuto's hand on _his cock_ to those insanely gorgeous eyes. 

"Koutarou..." he breathes, without deciding to. Bokuto gasps and his cock pulses hard in Kuroo's hand and Kuroo knows he's gone and done it, now, with that mouth of his.  _To hell with it_ , he thinks, kissing Bokuto again as they both get dangerously close to climax. He breaks the kiss and looks deep into Bokuto's eyes, pouring himself into them like liquid coal into flame. "This'll probably be the only time, so I want you to know how fucking hot you are," he manages between groans as Bokuto's thumb circles his slick head. Bokuto's hand stutters for a second in response and his face flushes even darker, somehow, but Kuroo has so much more to say, so much more. "You're stupid as hell, and sometimes I want to just- _mmh, shit_ \- _punch_ you, but-" he implores Bokuto one last time with his eyes- " _God,_ Kou, you turn me the fuck on-"

Bokuto spurts all over their hands then up onto their damp shirts, even catching Kuroo on the chest with probably the thickest, biggest load of his life. He looks absolutely gone to the world, eyes blown wide with dilation, but he keeps stroking until Kuroo follows suit with a shuddering, full-body, _out_ -of-body orgasm. There’s just _come,_ and _come_ , spurting thick between them for fuck knows how long until Bokuto’s knees buckle and he drops to them, panting. Kuroo’s vision blacks out for maybe five seconds, maybe ten minutes, when the peak of his orgasm hits him like a tonne of bricks. He looks down at himself when he finally can, groaning slightly in disgust, mostly in awe, at the absolute mess on his waist, stomach, _chest_. His cock almost twitches back to hardness. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he regrets not at least tearing off Bokuto's shirt. 

“Fuck,” he hears Bokuto breathe, still on his knees, absently pulling his shorts back up. “Shit, what the fuck…” He won’t meet Kuroo’s gaze, which is good because he doesn’t know what the hell to do or say, and they spend the next few moments just catching their breaths, coming down slowly from what were surely the best orgasms they’d ever had. He peers down at Bokuto, whose eyes look like he's just come to after a demonic possession. He's looking down numbly at his hand, splattered with ribbons of Kuroo's come, like he's looking at the wreckage of a plane crash. Suddenly, Kuroo notices, the idea of _kissing_ Bokuto feels completely out of the question, and he puzzles over how they’d done it just moments ago, how they’d had their tongues in each other’s mouths, how’d they’d _looked_ at each other, what the _fuck-_

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Bokuto says, breaking the silence as he finally pushes himself back up to his feet. It doesn’t help that his muscles fail him, seizing, and Kuroo has to reach out to steady him, securing a solid arm around his back. “God, t-thanks..” Bokuto says, and despite the veneer of night Kuroo can see the blush darkening his face. Kuroo can’t help it, a snicker forces its way out of his mouth. Bokuto startles.

“Did you just stutter?” Kuroo asks, letting the laugh take him, and maybe it’s just a release of this ridiculous tension between them because it’s way louder than he intended. “What are you, a schoolgirl?” Bokuto’s face darkens even more as he pouts, and the air between them, around them, seems to untie its own knots, loosen itself, as Kuroo’s laugh fades into the night. It _is_ farcical when he looks at it, the two of them standing there covered in each other’s come, even if Bokuto’s looking at him like he’s lost his damn mind.

“And you told me not to wake anyone up,” Bokuto says, steadying himself as Kuroo releases his grip. “You maniac.”

“Hmm,” Kuroo hums, happily, but when silence settles again there’s hesitancy between them. It pisses Kuroo off; this was _Bokuto_ , for god’s sake. Awkwardness wasn’t an option, even if they had just furiously jerked each other off outside the gym. He sighs and lays a tentative hand on Bokuto’s shoulder, jolting for a second when he realises its still slightly wet. Bokuto's expression is totally open, wavering like he has no idea where this is going, so Kuroo squeezes his shoulder in reassurance and softens his gaze. “Hey, what did I tell you?” he asks. Bokuto looks at him blankly. Kuroo sets his dark eyes, communicating everything they won’t verbalise until Bokuto gets a bit too drunk at a party. “Think too hard, and you’ll break something.”

 

*


End file.
